


As the bruises turn to yellow

by antheeia



Category: 91 Days (Anime)
Genre: Actually More Like Lust/Hate, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Kinda PWP, Light Bondage, Lust, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Rape/Non-con Elements, Regret, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Set during episode 9, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, but actually has a bit of plot, hate/love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 18:32:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8024548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antheeia/pseuds/antheeia
Summary: “You know, Avilio…” started Nero, speaking softly, with a particular emphasis on his name. Their faces were close, maybe too close, and Nero’s breath smelled of alcohol. He had a mischievous smile on his lips, and he looked like he was having fun. Is he really onto me?”“Now that I am the Don, being my favourite comes with many more privileges…” continued the Vanetti son with a teasing smile, his eyes darkening even more.





	As the bruises turn to yellow

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so as you could notice reading the tags, this fic is absolutely _pure SIN_.  
>  I'm sorry!  
>  ~~(I'm not really sorry)~~  
>  This said, this was just meant to be a short PWP, but of course I can't write anything but angst, so it grew up to have some kind of plot too. So, yeah, if Nero seems a bit OOC, the reason should be explained at the end.  
> A big thank you to all my new friends in the groupchat who fueled my kinks.

It was still late afternoon, and Nero was already drinking. He had closed himself in his room less than half an hour before, like an angry teenager, and maybe he thought Avilio wouldn't guess that the reason was that he wanted to drink, or maybe he didn't care, and he just wanted to be alone.

Either way, it was the right time for a chat: maybe Angelo could find out something that would help save Corteo without compromising his own position with the Vanettis, or maybe the perfect circumstances to kill Nero would just conveniently present themselves, who knew.

Angelo let himself in, then closed the door behind him. Nero had his back to the entrance and a half-empty glass in his hand. He was looking outside through the window’s closed shutters. Angelo didn't make a sound, waiting for the older man to notice him.

“You want a drink?” Nero asked, without turning to look at him. Angelo slowly walked towards him.

 _Actually, no, I don't, I am not a drunkard like you_ , he thought, but he accepted the drink anyway.

They didn't talk for a while. Nero poured the whiskey into his own glass and in a clean one and handed out the latter to Angelo. The younger man swallowed the alcohol slowly, and by the time he was done, Nero had gulped down two more glasses.

“So you’re the Don now, huh?”

Angelo said that, but the actual sentence hidden under that rhetorical question sounded more like ' _What are you so depressed about? You're such a_ brat _._ ' He was the head of the family now, he should have been happy, or at least _satisfied_  and, instead, he shut himself in his room and got drunk? Angelo would probably never be able to understand him.

“You never expected that, did you?” was the reply. Nero didn't sound proud, or happy, or excited; his voice only conveyed a deep bitterness about that whole matter. Angelo decided he should stop trying to understand.

_He is a spoiled brat, after all._

Nero turned around and looked the other man in the eyes, putting the glass down on his desk and getting close to him. Was he trying to look intimidating, or was the dark look in his eyes just a consequence of too many drinks and a lousy mood? Regardless, Angelo withstood his gaze impassively.

“Thinking about it,” added the young Vanetti, smirking, “maybe you made the right choice, being by my side from the start, wouldn't you say?”.

 _Or maybe_ you _made the right choice keeping me close._  If it wasn't for him, he would be long dead. Didn't he realize that? Well, he would die soon enough anyway, so Angelo might as well let him brag now.

“Maybe,” he replied, emotionless, still holding Nero’s gaze. The older man had got so close to him, Angelo could discern at least three different pigments of his blue irises, and perceive the dark passion emanating from them. He couldn't help but wonder where the other was going with those words; he felt the strong tension in the air and, for a moment, he suspected that Nero had found him out. Maybe he wanted to see if he confessed, or maybe he just wanted to kill him.

“You know, _Avilio_ …” started Nero, speaking softly, with a particular emphasis on his name. Their faces were close, maybe too close, and Nero’s breath smelled of alcohol. He had a mischievous smile on his lips, and he looked like he was having fun.

_Is he really onto me?_

“Now that I am the Don, being my favourite comes with many more privileges…” continued the Vanetti son with a teasing smile, his eyes darkening even more. Angelo didn't let his relief show. He was disappointed with himself: how could he even imagine Nero finding out about him? That was absurd. Nero trusted him so much he would never give credit to those kinds of suspects.

The relief made him bold, and he flaunted a smirk. “I’m lucky to be your favourite, then,” he whispered, with his best challenging tone. If Nero just wanted to flirt, or whatever that was, then why not just entertain his ego? If he lowered his guard enough, Angelo could ask something about the fourth man involved that fateful night. They would both get what they wanted: a win-win.

“Hey, hey, now!” Nero laughed scornfully, then he grasped one of Angelo's wrists by force, raising it above his shoulder. “I like you, Avilio,” he added, lips so close to those of the other man that they were almost brushing against each other, “but, to me, it looks like you are overestimating your position,” finished Nero, whispering softly on his lips, causing a shiver to run down his spine. For once Angelo wasn’t able to promptly hide his surprise: it wasn't often that his own reactions caught him off guard.

The other man probably noticed his eyes widen and his pupils dilating, because his smile got bigger and more teasing.

Nero had got so close to him that their bodies were now completely touching. Angelo could feel the other man’s erection against his thigh, through the layers of clothing. He wanted to put some distance between them, but stepping back meant showing fear, and he would never want to appear so weak. Instead, he stood there, still holding the other’s lustful gaze; he didn't try to release his own wrist from the other’s grip, he didn't even move.

He wasn't _scared_ by Nero's intentions, whatever they were, but he was worried, mostly because he didn't understand if his mind was just being played with or if Nero was serious. He was acting really strangely, in a surprisingly cold way. Probably it was the alcohol.

If Nero being suddenly unpredictable wasn't bad enough, there was another small problem. A detail, really: Angelo was aroused, and there was no way the other man hadn't noticed. There was no getting around those simple facts. It was probably because, despite his nervousness, his imagination kept wandering, and different scenarios, differently pleasing, flashed before his eyes. He didn't exactly approve of his body’s reactions, but he couldn't deny them either. It wasn't like he was into men — he didn't pay much attention to things like that anyway — and he absolutely was _not_ into Nero. Nero was handsome, and there was a lot of unresolved tension between them, that was all, he told himself.

He tried his best to rationalise, he really did. But when Nero grabbed him by the tie, in a movement that was anything but gentle, he found himself shivering with lust.

“Don't look at me like that, Avilio,” growled the Vanetti, strengthening the grip around Angelo's left wrist, and pushing him towards the wall. “I’m just saying that maybe before you start bragging about being my favourite, you need to earn that title.” He slightly raised his voice, and as much as he gave out an angry attitude, he didn't look sincerely angry at all, and the burning lust in his eyes was unmistakable now.

 _Oh, so he wants to fuck me. I never expected that_. Angelo never had that kind of experience, so he didn't quite know what to expect. A — probably very smart — part of him wanted to flee, but before that thought went through his mind, Nero was kissing him passionately, pulling him closer and pressing their bodies together. And, despite his best intentions, he was already reciprocating the kiss. There was no turning back now, was it? He had to give Nero what he wanted, and possibly do his best to gain something from that whole situation.

_It’ll be alright. It's not that big of a deal anyway._

Angelo had eventually made up his mind. He had to handle that situation in the best and fastest way possible, and he had to be convincing.

While he returned Nero's kiss, the other was still holding him by the tie and was starting to unbutton his shirt. Angelo guessed, judging by the erection in his own pants, that being convincing would probably be the last of his problems.

 

 

******

 

Angelo was kneeling down on the floor, still partially dressed. He had his briefs on and was still wearing his shirt, even if it was unbuttoned, exposing his bare chest and his stomach; the knot of his tie was loosened, but it still hung around his neck. All of his other clothes lay somewhere on the floor of the room, together with Nero’s.

One of Angelo's hands was wrapped around the other man’s dick, holding it steady while he tentatively licked its head, and the other was cupping his balls, gently playing with them. He had never done something like that before, but it was not like he was completely clueless either: he had been on the receiving end, sometimes.

He kept looking at Nero’s face, observing his reactions: his cheeks and ears flushed in a particularly intense shade of red from alcohol and excitement, his eyes were shut and his mouth half closed. He groaned something incoherent when Angelo took the head of his erection between his lips, sucking gently. He took it as a good sign, so he kept going.

He moved his hand along the erection, opening his mouth to press his tongue against the tip, dipping it into the slit. He was rewarded with some noisy moans coming from Nero's throat, who jerked back his head with a blissful smile.

Angelo was growing impatient. He decided to go for oral sex because it seemed the most harmless and painless of his option. He had to give up some pride, but he wasn't sure he’d be willing to go further than that, to give so much of himself to a man he despised — no matter how handsome and sexy and tempting he could be right in that moment. But then again, he never thought that giving someone a blowjob would be so demanding and frustrating and _arousing_.

His own dick hurt from being hard, untouched and constricted in his briefs so long. His mind was hazy, and it was difficult to concentrate on anything, and Nero's voice seemed to travel through his body right to his erection, giving him a hard time when he tried not to moan. He needed relief, but he didn't lose enough self-control to start begging for it.

Nero opened his eyes to look down at him and boldly met his gaze. In that moment, Angelo was sure, his own eyes were but golden pools of pure lust, probably begging in his stead because his mind was too dazed to control them anymore. He was pretty sure that his cheeks were flushed since he felt them burn hot under the other man’s gaze. A part of him felt so humiliated and asked himself why he on earth he thought having sex with a man he was meant to kill was even close to a good idea. But he couldn't turn back, he couldn't just stand up and go away and, honestly, he had got to the point where he didn't even really want to. 

Nero had his fingers tied between the younger man’s black locks and pulled them, imposing a rhythm. Angelo closed his eyes, trying to steady his crazed breath, to adjust it accordingly to his movements, and desperately imposed himself not to let a single sound leave his mouth.

Suddenly Nero shoved his whole length inside his mouth, and Angelo jolted in surprise, choking around it while the other’s hand kept him firmly in place; his own cock twitched and tears quickly formed in his eyes, then slid down his cheeks. He completely lost his self-control, and let out Nero’s name in a strangled whimper, with a needy and desperate voice that didn't sound like his own at all. The older man’s firm grip pulled his head away long enough for Angelo to inhale and then pushed him down again until his nose brushed against the brown hair on Nero's groin and his lips let out some quiet, choking noises.

At that point, Angelo moved his left hand between his own legs, palming his erection, finally letting himself have a small amount of relief. He felt completely overwhelmed, his body was burning with desire, he was light-headed and breathless, his face was wet with tears and sweat and drool. He felt like he was drowning, unable to handle the intensity of those feelings.

Nero came two hip thrusts later, moaning and calling Avilio’s name while he released himself in his mouth. His expression was beyond words, and seeing him like that, eyes closed and face twisted from pleasure, knowing he was the one responsible for that pleasure, made Angelo feel all-powerful like he had the other man in the palm of his hand and could do anything with him.

Angelo swallowed, despite the bitterness, and used his hands to clean his lips where they were wet. That feeling of power lasted too little because he soon realised that he was the one completely at Nero’s mercy at that point: he was still on edge, knees on the floor, holding his erection through his briefs, panting and shaking, his throat dry and aching.

_This was not a good idea._

He looked at Nero with an overwhelming desire he had never felt before. He couldn't find it in himself to think properly: even if deep inside he knew he was going to regret it later, he had given himself up to his instincts and now he couldn't ignore them anymore. He always thought that the drive to kill Nero was the cause of that tension between them, of that burning desire he felt, but now it seemed so natural to see it as lust, as sexual desire, he wondered why he hadn't considered it before.

He thought about Nero almost choking him minutes before and he felt a burning fire in his crotch. That was unhealthy, filthy and twisted. If he had judged himself able to, he would have tried to resist, but he was too excited, his self-control was long gone, and Nero was looking at him again and smirking, and he just wanted to see that face deformed by pleasure again.

As soon as Angelo stood up from the floor, Nero pulled him toward himself and shoved him on the mattress. The Vanetti was soon above him, pinning down both his hands and staring at him with an intense look in his eyes.

“So, you like me better now?” teased Angelo, trying his best to act cool while he kept himself from arching his hips onto the other’s, desperate for friction.

Nero didn't answer; he looked like he was about to say something, but he hesitated, lips opening and then closing again. He had an upset look on his face, a mix of what seemed like confusion and maybe regret. And when he looked Avilio in the eyes again, was that hate or desire burning inside them?

Nero thrust his hips into the other’s, and Angelo wasn't able to suppress a moan when their erections rubbed against each other, finally giving him some relief, sparking a hundred burning fires inside him. He felt so ashamed of himself, panting and sweating, face flushed, body hot and completely out of control, that he averted his gaze, closing his eyes and sinking his face in his right arm.

Nero started kissing his neck, slowly moving down to his nipple; he took it between his lips, licking and sucking, and Angelo bit back a moan, trying to pull himself out of those hands' unexpectedly strong grip, frustrated. Why wouldn't he just get to the freaking point already? A little bit more of that and he was sure he was going to come in his briefs at the first touch, and that was a humiliation he was not gonna take.

Nero continued to thrust their hips together, but the hold he had on the other man’s right hand slowly loosened, until he freed it altogether and started removing his tie instead. Angelo opened his eyes to look at him and decided that the mischievous, unhappy smile on his face was definitely a bad sign. He had shoved away his worry about how Nero was acting so different from usual, but it was surfacing back again in his mind. What the hell was going on with the guy?

Then Nero put both Angelo’s hands together and fastened them tight, using the tie he had just taken off of him, then he secured it to the bed with a knot. He had trapped his wrists with a swift and fast movement, and Angelo had been so distracted by his own thoughts, and by the way their erections were rubbing against each other through his underwear, that he didn't realise anything until he was too late to protest.

“Wha-  _What the hell_ do you think you are doing?” he stuttered, tugging at the tie, trying to free himself. Nero smiled, but there was no trace of happiness nor amusement in his eyes; he lowered his head, placing his lips on Avilio’s slender and pale neck, slowly kissing it up to the ear, while he slightly pulled down the younger’s underwear, stroking his erection.

Angelo gasped, closed his eyes and arched his back against that hand and then growled in frustration when Nero drew it away and chuckled. “Come on, don’t pull so hard, you’re gonna ruin the tie.” he murmured softly in his ear, and then proceeded to lick and softly bite his earlobes.

Angelo was so frustrated and wasted and out of his mind, that he actually let out a strangled whimper when the other moved away from him to look for something inside the drawer.

Nero came back almost instantly, pulled the other’s briefs away and spread his leg open. He lowered his head on Angelo’s dripping erection and started gently blowing on it; then he licked the tip, slowly, almost languidly. Angelo hid his face in his arm again, biting his lips to keep quiet.

He heard a soft squeezing sound, and then Nero’s wet, cold finger was kindly pushing near his entrance, making him jolt away from it. Nero didn’t even flinch at that reaction; he pushed Angelo down again and took his dick between his lips and into his mouth, sucking on it, stealing a moan from him. He put the finger near his entrance again, then he stopped and looked up at him. Angelo could feel that lingering gaze and his own face flushing bright red in response, but he didn't open his eyes.

Nero was way more gentle than he expected. The feeling was strange and probably tainted by how disgusted Angelo was at himself. He didn’t resist, he didn’t protest, he didn’t show any kind of disapproval: he didn’t _want_ it to stop. He wanted to enjoy it. He wanted to lose himself for once, to forget about all the rest, the death, the revenge, the violence, the pain, the regrets.

He felt the finger move slowly inside him, and as soon as he got comfortable, as soon as it stopped stinging, Nero put one more in. He still had his mouth wrapped around Angelo’s erection, and his tongue swirled around its head, making him squirm and moan in spite of the discomfort from that foreign presence inside him. When the third digit sank knuckle deep into him, his guts were burning in a mix of pain, shame and pleasure; but then the fingers spread and moved and touched that sensitive spot that made Angelo shameless cry out Nero’s name and then violently bit his own lips, almost as a punishment for that weakness.

The more he let himself go, the more it felt like Nero was sucking his sanity and self-control out of him, like it was okay to moan, and groan, and whimper, and cry Nero’s name, like it was okay to want to him that bad, and to do it not just because he wanted to manipulate him or trick him, but simply because _he yearned for him_ , for his lips on his body, the smell of his sweat, his hungry eyes, his firm muscles, the brushing of his beard against his skin.

He bit back a moan when Nero pulled his fingers away, and he looked at him while he raised his hips and adjusted himself between his thighs. Nero squeezed some more lube from the bottle he had placed on the bedside and spread it on his own erection. He gripped Angelo’s hips, digging his fingers into his pale skin, and he hesitated, directing his gaze toward Avilio’s face.

“You _do_ want it, don’t you?” Nero was breathless, his voice raspy and strained, but despite the dark lust in his eyes, his expression did look concerned.

 _'Is he really asking it_ now _?'_  thought Angelo in a moment of disbelief. Was that just a way to clean his conscience? He felt the grip on hips tighten, but Nero didn’t move an inch, and seemed to be waiting for his answer. But after all that build up, that yearning and frustration, that _slow torment_ , what did he expect him to say?

“Would you just do it, already?” he blurted, tugging at his bindings in frustration and pushing himself down against him. The other man welcomed his initiative and swiftly filled him, causing sparks of stinging pain and shivers of pleasure along his spine.

Nero started moving slowly, but that didn’t last long, and he was already setting a faster pace before Angelo could get used to his presence. The younger man was moaning and whimpering, hurting, but also squirming in pleasure when Nero sank into him at just the right angle; he was clenching his fists so hard he felt his own nails cut into the palm of his hands. Nero’s body felt hot, burning, and his hands held Angelo almost desperately; his face was flushed, and a lock of wet hair was stuck to his forehead; small drops of sweat dripped from his brow and on his face was painted an expression of pure bliss.

Angelo felt his guts twist and shocks of pleasure washing his sanity away, and before he knew it, Nero’s hand was wrapped around his dick, jerking him off, and he was choking on incoherent words while he felt his own walls clamp down around Nero’s erection, and his stomach drop. Nero cried out his name with what was almost a begging, and he repeated it once, twice, three times,  _'Avilio'_ , his voice breaking. That was when the orgasm hit Angelo, exploded into him, and he came thrusting into Nero’s hand, the tension and pleasure reaching their peak and finally releasing. And while Angelo was still riding the waves of pleasure of his own climax, he felt Nero’s erection pulsing and twisting inside him, and the wetness flooding him and dripping out of him with Nero’s last thrusts.

He finally relaxed his body, shaken and trembling, blood buzzing in his ears; Nero slipped out of him and started untying his bindings, and his closeness made him feel almost nauseous. He closed his eyes, exhausted.

 

******

 

Angelo was sitting on the edge of the bed, inhaling the last bit of smoke from his now finished cigarette. He felt disgusted. Behind him, Nero was lying, asleep and only wearing his pants, wrapped in the sheets. Angelo, instead, had retrieved his shirt, brief and trousers and put them on, even though covering himself with clothes didn’t make him feel any less ashamed.

He wished he could say he didn’t want any of what happened, he wished he could convince himself it was not that he surrendered his body to one of the men responsible for his family’s death, that it was the other man who forced him. But the reason he was ashamed was that he _had_ wanted it, he _had_ forgotten himself, he _had_ felt a warmth inside him while he looked at Nero’s enraptured face, he _had_ yearned for him, lusted for him. Yeah, maybe Nero did impose himself, but Angelo’s behaviour, his feelings, were not those of a man who lived for revenge.

He massaged his wrists, a bit bruised from the bindings, and clenched his jaws in anger. Nero Vanetti was able to take away from him not only his family, but even his hatred, and left him empty and utterly repulsing. He tried to focus on the reason he was there, on the information he wanted but, instead, he only felt a blind anger towards himself.

He picked up the gun Nero had left on the bedside, rested his forehead against it and closed his eyes. The feeling of cold metal against his skin was strangely comforting, calming, and helped him settle his own thoughts. Everything that happened could not be changed, Angelo knew it too well: the past was past, and it was destined to haunt him forever. And the future, well, he didn’t exactly _have_ a future. But Corteo did. And to save Corteo he either had to find out who was holding him hostage and where, or he had to kill Nero.

Angelo stood up, circled around the bed and stopped right in front of Nero. He looked so vulnerable, and he shouldn’t have looked like that. Angelo wasn’t one to kill helpless people. He wasn’t like the ones who killed his family. He wasn’t like _him_.

He took a deep breath and raised the weapon, pointing it towards Nero. After everything that man did to him, he was finally about to take his revenge. He closed his eyes to taste that feeling. And yet, he didn’t feel the same satisfaction, the same bliss he felt when he was about to kill Vanno. Instead, moments from that night just kept flashing inside his head, sparking his anger and his biting shame.

He tightened his eyes and ground his teeth, and he felt so immensely stupid. He got so far, he did so much, and now he let his weaknesses get in the way? He could not allow himself to let that happen. He had to steady his hands and pull the trigger. He had to save Corteo, and that looked like the only way to do that.

“Do it.”

Nero’s voice rang in his ears, and Angelo opened his eyes, startled. How long had Nero been watching him? He probably looked panicked for a brief moment, before he regained his composure and directed at the other man all the anger and discomfort that he felt were about to suffocate him.

Nero had a soft and forgiving look in his eyes, so different from the one he wore less than an hour before, so light, warm and calm. It was like he suddenly found his inner peace. He walked towards him until he was centimetres away from the gun Angelo was still holding.

“Come on, kill me,” he exhorted. His voice was as warm and soft as his eyes, and despite everything, Angelo found that it had a calming effect on him. But it didn’t soothe his confusion. _Why?_ Nero could so easily hit him, snatch the gun out of his hand and kill him. Nothing prevented him from defending himself. There was no reason to give up his life like that. So why?

“I wasn't born for this kind of life, after all,” insisted Nero, and this time his voice was trembling, and his eyes darkened for a moment; he raised one hand and put it around Angelo’s right wrist, steadying the hand and pushing himself closer to the barrel of the gun, until it touched his forehead. Then he looked Angelo straight in the eyes, wearing a warm smile that would have seemed real if it wasn’t betrayed by the sadness in his eyes.

“I won’t mind, I mean it. Come on.”

But Angelo couldn’t shoot. He couldn’t find it in himself, the strength to pull the trigger on that man that offered his life to him so  _purely_. He offered to him the one and only thing that really meant everything to anyone, and he did it so naturally and selflessly, and how could he kill him?

That wasn’t revenge at all.

That wasn’t even just murder, but _merciless slaughter_.

“Please do it, Angelo.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this.  
> The final scene is heavily inspired by [this wonderful art](http://www.pixiv.net/member_illust.php?mode=medium&illust_id=58807605). I had a similar scene in mind, but then I found this fanart and I fell in love with it. Ironically, that scene is basically the only part of the fic I am satisfied about.
> 
> I'm also _kinda_ considering a second chapter from Nero's POV, just to better explore his inner turmoil, his insecurities, how he found out about Angelo, and how he felt about it. But we'll see if I manage to do it.  
>  For now, this is it, I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
